ESMERALDA By Frances Hodgson Burnett Copyright, 1877 To begin, I am a Frenchman, a teacher of languages, and a poorman, --necessarily a poor man, as the great world would say, or I shouldnot be a teacher of languages, and my wife a copyist of great pictures, selling her copies at small prices. In our own eyes, it is true, we arenot so poor--my Clélie and I. Looking back upon our past we congratulateourselves upon our prosperous condition. There was a time when we werepoorer than we are now, and were not together, and were, moreover, inLondon instead of in Paris. These were indeed calamities: to be poor, to teach, to live apart, not even knowing each other--and in England! InEngland we spent years; we instructed imbeciles of all grades; we werechilled by east winds, and tortured by influenza; we vainly strove toconciliate the appalling English; we were discouraged and desolate. Butthis, thank _le bon Dieu!_ is past. We are united; we have our littleapartment--upon the fifth floor, it is true, but still not hopelesslyfar from the Champs Elysées. Clélie paints her little pictures, orcopies those of some greater artist, and finds sale for them. She is nota great artist herself, and is charmingly conscious of the fact. "At fifteen, " she says, "I regretted that I was not a genius; at fiveand twenty, I rejoice that I made the discovery so early, and so gavemyself time to become grateful for the small gifts bestowed upon me. Whyshould I eat out my heart with envy? Is it not possible that I might bea less clever woman than I am, and a less lucky one?" On my part I have my pupils, --French pupils who take lessons in English, German, or Italian; English or American pupils who generally learnFrench, and, upon the whole, I do not suffer from lack of patrons. It is my habit when Clélie is at work upon a copy in one of the greatgalleries to accompany her to the scene of her labor in the morning andcall for her at noon, and, in accordance with this habit, I made my wayto the Louvre at midday upon one occasion three years ago. I found my wife busy at her easel in the _Grande Galerie_, and when Iapproached her and laid my hand upon her shoulder, as was my wont, shelooked up with a smile and spoke to me in a cautious undertone. "I am glad, " she said, "that you are not ten minutes later. Look atthose extraordinary people. " She still leaned back in her chair and looked up at me, but made, atthe same time, one of those indescribable movements of the head which aclever woman can render so significant. This slight gesture directed me at once to the extraordinary people towhom she referred. "Are they not truly wonderful?" she asked. There were two of them, evidently father and daughter, and they sat sideby side upon a seat placed in an archway, and regarded hopelessly one ofthe finest works in the gallery. The father was a person undersizedand elderly. His face was tanned and seamed, as if with years of roughoutdoor labor; the effect produced upon him by his clothes was plainlyone of actual suffering, both physical and mental. His stiff handsrefused to meet the efforts of his gloves to fit them; his body shrankfrom his garments; if he had not been pathetic, he would have beenridiculous. But he was pathetic. It was evident he was not so attired ofhis own free will; that only a patient nature, inured by long customto discomfort, sustained him; that he was in the gallery underprotest; that he did not understand the paintings, and that theyperplexed--overwhelmed him. The daughter it is almost impossible to describe, and yet I must attemptto describe her. She had a slender and pretty figure; there were slightmarks of the sun on her face also, and, as in her father's case, the richness of her dress was set at defiance by a strong element ofincongruousness. She had black hair and gray eyes, and she sat withfolded hands staring at the picture before her in dumb uninterestedness. Clélie had taken up her brush again, and was touching up her work hereand there. "They have been here two hours, " she said. "They are waiting for someone. At first they tried to look about them as others did. They wanderedfrom seat to seat, and sat down, and looked as you see them doing now. What do you think of them? To what nation should you ascribe them?" "They are not French, " I answered. "And they are not English. " "If she were English, " said Clélie, "the girl would be more conscious ofherself, and of what we might possibly be saying. She is only consciousthat she is out of place and miserable. She does not care for us at all. I have never seen Americans like them before, but I am convinced thatthey are Americans. " She laid aside her working materials and proceeded to draw on hergloves. "We will go and look at that 'Tentation de St. Antoine' of Teniers, " shesaid, "and we may hear them speak. I confess I am devoured by an anxietyto hear them speak. " According, a few moments later an amiable young couple stood before "LaTentation, " regarding it with absorbed and critical glances. But the father and daughter did not seem to see us. They lookeddisconsolately about them, or at the picture before which they sat. Finally, however, we were rewarded by hearing them speak to each other. The father addressed the young lady slowly and deliberately, and with anaccent which, but for my long residence in England and familiarity withsome forms of its _patois_, I should find it impossible to transcribe. "Esmeraldy, " he said, "your ma's a long time acomin'. " "Yes, " answered the girl, with the same accent, and in a voice whollylistless and melancholy, "she's a long time. " Clélie favored me with one of her rapid side glances. The study ofcharacter is her grand passion, and her special weakness is a fancyfor the singular and incongruous. I have seen her stand in silence, and regard with positive interest one of her former patronesses whowas overwhelming her with contumelious violence, seeming entirelyunconscious of all else but that the woman was of a species novel toher, and therefore worthy of delicate observation. "It is as I said, " she whispered. "They are Americans, but of an orderentirely new. " Almost the next instant she touched my arm. "Here is the mother!" she exclaimed. "She is coming this way. See!" A woman advanced rapidly toward our part of the gallery, --a small, angrywoman, with an un graceful figure, and a keen brown eye. She began tospeak aloud while still several feet distant from the waiting couple. "Come along, " she said. "I've found a place at last, though I've beenall the morning at it, --and the woman who keeps the door speaks English. "They call 'em, " remarked the husband, meekly rising, "_con-ser-ges_. Iwonder why. " The girl rose also, still with her hopeless, abstracted air, andfollowed the mother, who led the way to the door. Seeing her moveforward, my wife uttered an admiring exclamation. "She is more beautiful than I thought, " she said. "She holds herselfmarvelously. She moves with the freedom of some fine wild creature. " And, as the party disappeared from view, her regret at losing them drewfrom her a sigh. She discussed them with characteristic enthusiasm allthe way home. She even concocted a very probable little romance. Onewould always imagine so many things concerning Americans. They were soextraordinary a people; they acquired wealth by such peculiar means;their country was so immense; their resources were so remarkable. Thesepersons, for instance, were evidently persons of wealth, and as plainlyhad risen from the people. The mother was not quite so wholly untaughtas the other two, but she was more objectionable. "One can bear with the large simplicity of utter ignorance, " said myfair philosopher. "One frequently finds it gentle and unworldly, but theother is odious because it is always aggressive and narrow. " She had taken a strong feminine dislike to Madame la Mère. "She makes her family miserable, " she said. "She drags them from placeto place. Possibly there is a lover, --more possibly than not. The girl'seyes wore a peculiar look, --as if they searched for something far away. " She had scarcely concluded her charming little harangue when we reachedour destination; but, as we passed through the entrance, she paused tospeak to the curly-headed child of the _concierge_ whose mother held himby the hand. "We shall have new arrivals to-morrow, " said the good woman, who wasalways ready for friendly gossip. "The apartment upon the first floor, "and she nodded to me significantly, and with good-natured encouragement. "Perhaps you may get pupils, " she added. "They are Americans, and speakonly English, and there is a young lady, Madame says. " "Americans!" exclaimed Clélie, with sudden interest. "Americans, " answered the _concierge_. "It was Madame who came. _MonDieu!_ it was wonderful! So rich and so--so"--filling up the blank by ashrug of deep meaning. "It cannot have been long since they were--peasants, " her voice droppinginto a cautious whisper. "Why not our friends of the Louvre?" said Clélie as we went onup-stairs. "Why not?" I replied. "It is very possible. " The next day there arrived at the house numberless trunks of largedimensions, superintended by the small angry woman and a maid. An hourlater came a carriage, from whose door emerged the young lady and herfather. Both looked pale and fagged; both were led up-stairs in themidst of voluble comments and commands by the mother; and both, enteringthe apartment, seemed swallowed up by it, as we saw and heard nothingfurther of them. Clélie was indignant. "It is plain that the mother overwhelms them, " she said. "A girl of thatage should speak and be interested in any novelty. This one would be ifshe were not wretched. And the poor little husband!"-- "My dear, " I remarked, "you are a feminine Bayard. You engage yourselfwith such ardor in everybody's wrongs. " When I returned from my afternoon's work a few days later, I foundClélie again excited. She had been summoned to the first floor byMadame. "I went into the room, " said Clélie, "and found the mother and daughtertogether. Mademoiselle, who stood by the fire, had evidently beenweeping Madame was in an abrupt and angry mood. She wasted no words. 'Iwant you to give her lessons, ' she said, making an ungraceful gesture inthe direction of her daughter. 'What do you charge a lesson?' And on mytelling her, she engaged me at once. 'It's a great deal, but I guess Ican pay as well as other people, ' she remarked. " A few of the lessons were given downstairs, and then Clélie preferred arequest to Madame. "If you will permit Mademoiselle to come to my room, you will confer afavor upon me, " she said. Fortunately, her request was granted, and so I used afterward to comehome and find Mademoiselle Esmeralda in our little _salon_ at workdisconsolately and tremulously. She found it difficult to hold herpencil in the correct manner, and one morning she let it drop, and burstinto tears. "Don't you see I'll never do it!" she answered, miserably. "Don't yousee I couldn't, even if my heart was in it, and it aint at all!" She held out her little hands piteously for Clélie to look at. Theywere well enough shaped, and would have been pretty if they had not beenrobbed of their youthful suppleness by labor. "I've been used to work, " she said, "rough work all my life, and myhands aint like yours. " "But you must not be discouraged, Mademoiselle, " said Clélie gently. "Time"-- "Time, " interposed the girl, with a frightened look in her pretty grayeyes. "That's what I can't bear to think of--the time that's to come. " This was the first of many outbursts of confidence. Afterward sherelated to Clélie, with the greatest naïveté, the whole history of thefamily affairs. They had been the possessors of some barren mountain lands in NorthCarolina, and her description of their former life was wonderful indeedto the ears of the Parisian. She herself had been brought up withmarvelous simplicity and hardihood, barely learning to read andwrite, and in absolute ignorance of society. A year ago iron had beendiscovered upon their property, and the result had been wealth andmisery for father and daughter. The mother, who had some vague fanciesof the attractions of the great outside world, was ambitious andrestless. Monsieur, who was a mild and accommodating person, could onlygive way before her stronger will. "She always had her way with us, " said Mademoiselle Esmeralda, scratching nervously upon the paper before her with her pencil, at thispart of the relation. "We did not want to leave home, neither me norfather, and father said more than I ever heard him say before at onetime. 'Mother, ' says he, 'let me an' Esmeraldy stay at home, an' you goan' enjoy your tower. You've had more schoolin' an' you'll be moreat home than we should. You're useder to city ways, havin' lived in'Lizabethville. ' But it only vexed her. People in town had been talkingto her about traveling and letting me learn things, and she'd set hermind on it. " She was very simple and unsophisticated. To the memory of her formertruly singular life she clung with unshaken fidelity. She recurred toit constantly. The novelty and luxury of her new existence seemedto have no attractions for her. One thing even my Clélie foundincomprehensible, while she fancied she understood the rest--she did notappear to be moved to pleasure even by our beloved Paris. "It is a true _maladie du pays_, " Clélie remarked to me. "_And that isnot all_. " Nor was it all. One day the whole truth was told amid a flood of tears. "I--I was going to be married, " cried the poor child. "I was tohave been married the week the ore was found. I was--all ready, andmother--mother shut right down on us. " Clélie glanced at me in amazed questioning. "It is a kind of _argot_ which belongs only to Americans, " I answered inan undertone. "The alliance was broken off. " "_Ciel!_" exclaimed my Clélie between her small shut teeth. "The woman isa fiend!" She was wholly absorbed in her study of this unworldly and untaughtnature. She was full of sympathy for its trials and tenderness, and forits pain. Even the girl's peculiarities of speech were full of interest to her. She made serious and intelligent efforts to understand them, as if shestudied a new language. "It is not common _argot_, " she said. "It has its subtleties. Onecontinually finds somewhere an original idea--sometimes even a _bonmot_, which startles one by its pointedness. As you say, however, itbelongs only to the Americans and their remarkable country. A Frenchmind can only arrive at its climaxes through a grave and occasionallytedious research, which would weary most persons, but which, however, does not weary me. " The confidence of Mademoiselle Esmeralda was easily won. She becameattached to us both, and particularly to Clélie. When her mother wasabsent or occupied, she stole up-stairs to our apartment and spent withus the moments of leisure chance afforded her. She liked our rooms, shetold my wife, because they were small, and our society, because we were"clever, " which we discovered afterward meant "amiable. " But she wasalways pale and out of spirits. She would sit before our fire silent andabstracted. "You must not mind if I don't talk, " she would say. "I can't; and itseems to help me to get to sit and think about things--Mother won't letme do it down-stairs. " We became also familiar with the father. One day I met him upon thestaircase, and to my amazement he stopped as if he wished to address me. I raised my hat and bade him good-morning. On his part he drew forth alarge handkerchief and began to rub the palms of his hands with awkwardtimidity. "How-dy?" he said. I confess that at the moment I was covered with confusion. I who wasa teacher of English, and flattered myself that I wrote and spoke itfluently did not understand. Immediately, however, it flashed acrossmy mind that the word was a species of salutation. (Which I finallydiscovered to be the case. ) I bowed again and thanked him, hazarding thereply that my health was excellent, and an inquiry as to the state ofMadame's. He rubbed his hands still more nervously, and answered me inthe slow and deliberate mariner I had observed at the Louvre. "Thank ye, " he said, "she's doin' tol'able well, is mother--as well ascommon. And she's a-en-joyin' herself, too. I wish we was all"-- But there he checked himself and glanced hastily about him. Then he began again:-- "Esmeraldy, " he said, --"Esmeraldy thinks a heap on you. She takes asight of comfort out of Mis' Des----I can't call your name, but I meanyour wife. " "Madame Desmarres, " I replied, "is rejoiced indeed to have won thefriendship of Mademoiselle. " "Yes, " he proceeded, "she takes a sight of comfort in you and all. An'she needs comfort, does Esmeraldy. " There ensued a slight pause which somewhat embarrassed me, for at everypause he regarded me with an air of meek and hesitant appeal. "She's a little down-sperrited is Esmeraldy, " he said. "An', " addingthis suddenly in a subdued and fearful tone, "so am I. " Having said this he seemed to feel that he had overstepped a barrier. He seized the lapel of my coat and held me prisoner, pouring forth hisconfessions with a faith in my interest by which I was at once-amazedand touched. "You see it's this way, " he said, --"it's this way, Mister. We're homefolks, me an' Esmeraldy, an' we're a long way from home, an' it sorterseems like we didn't get no useder to it than we was at first. We'renot like mother. Mother she was raised in a town, --she was raised in'Lizabethville, --an' she allers took to town ways; but me an' Esmeraldy, we was raised in the mountains, right under the shadder of old Bald, an' town goes hard with us. Seems like we're allers a thinkin' of NorthCallina. An' mother she gits outed, which is likely. She says we'd oughtto fit ourselves fur our higher pear, an' I dessay we'd ought, --but yousee it goes sorter hard with us. An' Esmeraldy she has her trouble an' Ican't help a sympathizin' with her, fur young folks will be young folks;an' I was young folks once myself. Once--once I sot a heap o' store bymother. So you see-how it is. " "It is very sad, Monsieur, " I answered with gravity. Singular as itmay appear, this was not so laughable to me as it might seem. It was soapparent that he did not anticipate ridicule. And my Clélie's interestin these people also rendered them sacred in my eyes. "Yes, " he returned, "that's so; an' sometimes it's wuss than you'dthink--when mother's outed. An' that's why I'm glad as Mis' Dimar an'Esmeraldy is such friends. " It struck me at this moment that he had some request to make of me. He grasped the lapel of my coat somewhat more tightly as if requiringadditional support, and finally bent forward and addressed me withcaution, "Do you think as Mis' Dimar would mind it ef now an' then I wasto step in fur Esmeraldy, an' set a little--just in a kinder neighborin'way. Esmeraldy, she says you're so sosherble. And I haint been sosherblewith no one fur--fur a right smart spell. And it seems like I kinderhanker arter it. You've no idea, Mister, how lonesome a man can gitwhen he hankers to be sosherble an' haint no one to be sosherble with. Mother, she says, 'Go out on the Champs Elizy and promenard, ' and I'vedone it; but some ways it don't reach the spot. I don't seem to getsosherble with no one. I've spoke to--may be through us speakin'different languages, an' not comin' to a understandin'. I've triedit loud an' I've tried it low an' encouragen', but some ways we neverseemed to get on. An' er Mis' Dimar wouldn't take no exceptions at mea-drop-pin' in, I feel as ef I should be sorter uplifted--if she'd onlyallow it once a week or even fewer. " "Monsieur, " I replied with warmth, "I beg you will consider our _salon_at your disposal, not once a week but at all times, and Madame Desmarreswould certainly join me in the invitation if she were upon the spot. " He released the lapel of my coat and grasped my hand, shaking it withfervor. "Now, that's clever, that is, " he said. "An' its friendly, an' I'mobligated to ye. " Since he appeared to have nothing further to say we went down-stairstogether. At the door we parted. "I'm a-goin', " he remarked, "to the Champs Elizy to promenard. Where areyou a-goin'?" "To the Boulevard Haussmann, Monsieur, to give a lesson, " I returned. "Iwill wish you good-morning. " "Good-mornin', " he answered. "_Bong_"--reflecting deeply for amoment--"_Bong jore_. I'm a tryin' to learn it, you see, with a view tobein' more sosherbler. _Bong jore_" And thus took his departure. After this we saw him frequently. In fact it became his habit to followMademoiselle Esmeralda in all her visits to our apartment. A few minutesafter her arrival we usually heard a timid knock upon the outer door, which proved to emanate from Monsieur, who always entered with alaborious "_Bong jore_" and always slipped deprecatingly into the leastcomfortable chair near the fire, hurriedly concealing his hat beneathit. In him also my Clélie became much interested. On my own part I couldnot cease to admire the fine feeling and delicate tact she continuallyexhibited in her manner toward him. In time he even appeared to losesomething of his first embarrassment and discomfort, though he wasalways inclined to a reverent silence in her presence. "He don't say much, don't father, " said Mademoiselle Esmeralda, withtears in her pretty eyes. "He's like me, but you don't know what comforthe's taking when he sits and listens and stirs his chocolate round andround without drinking it. He doesn't drink it because he aint used toit; but he likes to have it when we do, because he says it makes himfeel sosherble. He's trying to learn to drink it too--he practices everyday a little at a time. He was powerful afraid at first that you'd takeexceptions to him doing nothing but stir it round; but I told him I knewyou wouldn't for you wasn't that kind. " "I find him, " said Clélie to me, "inexpressibly mournful, --even thoughhe excites one to smile? upon all occasions. Is it not mournful thathis very suffering should be absurd. _Mon Dieu!_ he does not _wear_ hisclothes--he bears them about with him--he simply _carries_ them. " It was about this time that Mademoiselle Esmeralda was rendered doublyunhappy. Since their residence in Paris Madame had been industriouslyoccupied in making efforts to enter society. She had struggled violentlyand indefatigably. She was at once persistent and ambitious. She hadused every means that lay in her power, and, most of all, she had usedher money. Naturally, she had found people upon the outskirts of goodcircles who would accept her with her money. Consequently, she hadobtained acquaintances of a class, and was bold enough to employ them asstepping-stones. At all events, she began to receive invitations, and todiscover opportunities to pay visits, and to take her daughter with her. Accordingly, Mademoiselle Esmeralda was placed upon exhibition. She was dressed by experienced _artistes_. She was forced from herseclusion, and obliged to drive, and call, and promenade. Her condition was pitiable. While all this was torture to herinexperience and timidity, her fear of her mother rendered her whollysubmissive. Each day brought with it some new trial. She was admired formany reasons, --by some for her wealth, of which all had heard rumors; byothers for her freshness and beauty. The silence and sensitiveness whicharose from shyness, and her ignorance of all social rules, werecalled _naïveté_ and modesty, and people who abhorred her mother, notunfrequently were charmed with her, and consequently Madame found heralso an instrument of some consequence. In her determination to overcome all obstacles, Madame even condescendedto apply to my wife, whose influence over Mademoiselle she was cleverenough not to undervalue. "I want you to talk to Mademoiselle, " she said. "She thinks a greatdeal of you, and I want you to give her some good advice. You know whatsociety is, and you know that she ought to be proud of her advantages, and not make a fool of herself. Many a girl would be glad enough of whatshe has before her. She's got money, and she's got chances, and Idon't begrudge her anything. She can spend all she likes on clothes andthings, and I'll take her anywhere if she'll behave herself. They wearme out--her and her father. It's her father that's ruined her, and herliving as she's done. Her father never knew anything, and he's made apet of her, and got her into his way of thinking. It's ridiculous howlittle ambition they have, and she might marry as well as any girl. There's a marquis that's quite in love with her at this moment, andshe's as afraid of him as death, and cries if I even mention him, thoughhe's a nice enough man, if he is a bit elderly. Now, I want you toreason with her. " This Clélie told me afterward. "And upon going away, " she ended, "she turned round toward me, settingher face into an indescribable expression of hardness and obstinacy. 'I want her to understand, ' she said, 'that she's cut off forever fromanything that's happened before. There's the' Atlantic Ocean and many amile of land between her and North Carolina, and so she may as well givethat up. '" Two or three days after this Mademoiselle came to our apartment in greatgrief. She had left Madame in a violent ill-temper. They had receivedinvitations to a ball at which they were to meet the marquis. Madame hadbeen elated, and the discovery of Mademoiselle's misery and trepidationhad roused her indignation. There had been a painful scene, andMademoiselle had been overwhelmed as usual. She knelt before the fire and wept despairingly. "I'd rather die than go, " she said. "I can't stand it. I can't get usedto it. The light, and the noise, and the talk, hurts me, and I don'tknow what I am doing. And people stare at me, and I make mistakes, andI'm not fit for it--and--and--I'd rather be dead fifty thousand timesthan let that man come near me. I hate him, and I'm afraid of him, and Iwish I was dead. " At this juncture came the timid summons upon the door, and the fatherentered with a disturbed and subdued air. He did not conceal his hat, but held it in his hands, and turned it round and round in an agitatedmanner as he seated himself beside his daughter. "Esmeraldy, " he said, "don't you take it so hard; honey. Mother, she'skinder outed, and she's not at herself rightly. Don't you never mind. Mother she means well, but--but she's got a sorter curious way ofshowin' it. She's got a high sperrit, an' we'd ought to 'low fur it, andnot take it so much to heart. Mis' Dimar here knows how high-sperritedpeople is sometimes, I dessay, --an' mother she's got a powerful highsperrit. " But the poor child only wept more hopelessly. It was not only thecruelty of her mother which oppressed her, it was the wound she bore inher heart. Clélie's eyes filled with tears as she regarded her. The father was also more broken in spirit than he wished it to appear. His weather-beaten face assumed an expression of deep melancholy whichat last betrayed itself in an evidently inadvertent speech. "I wish--I wish, " he faltered. "Lord! I'd give a heap to see Wash now. I'd give a heap to see him, Esmeraldy. " It was as if the words were the last straw. The girl turned toward himand flung herself upon his breast with a passionate cry. "Oh, father!" she sobbed, "we sha'n't never see him again--never--never!nor the mountains, nor the people that cared for us. We've lost it all, and we can't get it back, --and we haven't a soul that's near to us, --andwe're all alone, --you and me, father, and Wash--Wash, he thinks we don'tcare. " I must confess to a momentary spasm of alarm, her grief was so wild andoverwhelming. One hand was flung about her father's neck, and the otherpressed itself against her side, as if her heart was breaking. Clélie bent down and lifted her up, consoling her tenderly. "Mademoiselle, " she said, "do not despair. _Le Bon Dieu_ will surelyhave pity. " The father drew forth the large linen handkerchief, and unfolding itslowly, applied it to his eyes. "Yes, Esmeraldy, " he said; "don't let us give out, --at least don't yougive out. It doesn't matter fur me, Esmeraldy, because, you see, I musthold on to mother, as I swore not to go back on; but you're young an'likely, Esmeraldy, an' don't you give out yet, fur the Lord's sake. " But she did not cease weeping until she had wholly fatigued herself, and by this time there arrived a message from Madame, who requiredher presence down-stairs. Monsieur was somewhat alarmed, and roseprecipitately, but Mademoiselle was too full of despair to admit offear. "It's only the dress-maker, " she said. "You can stay where you are, father, and she won't guess we've been together, and it'll be better forus both. " And accordingly she obeyed the summons alone. Great were the preparations made by Madame for the entertainment Mywife, to whom she displayed the costumes and jewels she had purchased, was aroused to an admiration truly feminine. She had the discretion to trust to the taste of the _artistes_, and hadrestrained them in nothing. Consequently, all that was to be desired inthe appearance of Mademoiselle Esmeralda upon the eventful evening washappiness. With her mother's permission, she came to our room to displayherself, Monsieur following her with an air of awe and admirationcommingled. Her costume was rich and exquisite, and her beauty beyondcriticism; but as she stood in the centre of our little _salon_ to belooked at, she presented an appearance to move one's heart. The prettyyoung face which had by this time lost its slight traces of the sun hadalso lost some of its bloom; the slight figure was not so round nor soerect as it had been, and moved with less of spirit and girlishness. It appeared that Monsieur observed this also, for he stood apartregarding her with evident depression, and occasionally used hishandkerchief with a violence that was evidently meant to conceal somesecret emotion. "You're not so peart as you was, Esmeraldy, " he remarked, tremulously;"not as peart by a light smart, and what with that, and what with yourfixin's, Wash--I mean the home-folks, "--hastily--"they'd hardly knowye. " He followed her down-stairs mournfully when she took her departure, and Clélie and myself being left alone interested ourselves in variousspeculations concerning them, as was our habit. "This Monsieur Wash, " remarked Clélie, "is clearly the lover. Poorchild! how passionately she regrets him, --and thousands of miles liebetween them--thousands of miles!" It was not long after this that, on my way downstairs to make a triflingpurchase, I met with something approaching an adventure. It so chancedthat, as I descended the staircase of the second floor, the door of thefirst floor apartment was thrown open, and from it issued MademoiselleEsmeralda and her mother on their way to their waiting carriage. Myinterest in the appearance of Mademoiselle in her white robes andsparkling jewels so absorbed me that I inadvertently brushed against afigure which stood in the shadow regarding them also. Turning at once toapologize, I found myself confronting a young man, --tall, powerful, butwith a sad and haggard face, and attired in a strange and homely dresswhich had a foreign look. "Monsieur!" I exclaimed, "a thousand pardons. I was so unlucky as not tosee you. " But he did not seem to hear. He remained silent, gazing fixedly at theladies until they had disappeared, and then, on my addressing him againhe awakened, as it were, with a start. "It doesn't matter, " he answered, in a heavy bewildered voice and inEnglish, and turning back made his way slowly up the stairs. But even the utterance of this brief sentence had betrayed to mypracticed ear a peculiar accent--an accent which, strange to say, bore alikeness to that of our friends downstairs, and which caused me to stopa moment at the lodge of the concierge, and ask her a question or so. "Have we a new occupant upon the fifth floor?" I inquired. "A person whospeaks English?" She answered me with a dubious expression. "You must mean the strange young man upon the sixth, " she said. "He is anew one and speaks English. Indeed, he does not speak anything else, oreven understand a word. _Mon Dieu!_ the trials one encounters withsuch persons, --endeavoring to comprehend, poor creatures, and failingalways, --and this one is worse than the rest and looks more wretched--asif he had not a friend in the world. " "What is his name?" I asked. "How can one remember their names?--it is worse than impossible. Thisone is frightful. But he has no letters, thank Heaven. If there shouldarrive one with an impossible name upon it, I should take it to him andrun the risk. " Naturally, Clélie, to whom I related the incident, was much interested. But it was some time before either of us saw the hero of it again, though both of us confessed to having been upon the watch for him. The_concierge_ could only tell us that he lived a secluded life--rarelyleaving his room in he daytime, and seeming to be very poor. "He does not work and eats next to nothing, " she said. "Late at night heoccasionally carries up a loaf, and once he treated himself to a cup of_bouillon_ from the restaurant at the corner--but it was only once, pooryoung man. He is at least very gentle and well-conducted. " So it was not to be wondered at that we did not see him. Cléliementioned him to her young friend, but Mademoiselle's interest in himwas only faint and ephemeral. She had not the spirit to rouse herself toany strong emotion. "I dare say he's an American, " she said. "There are plenty of Americansin Paris, but none of them seem a bit nearer to me than if they wereFrench. They are all rich and fine, and they all like the life herebetter than the life at home. This is the first poor one I have heardof. " Each day brought fresh unhappiness to her. Madame was inexorable. Shespent a fortune upon _toilette_ for her, and insisted upon dragging herfrom place to place, and wearying her with gayeties from which her sadyoung heart shrank. Each afternoon their equipage was to be seen uponthe Champs Elysées, and each evening it stood before the door waiting tobear them to some place of festivity. Mademoiselle's _bête noir_, the marquis, who was a debilitated _roue_ insearch of a fortune, attached himself to them upon all occasions. "Bah!" said Clélie with contempt, "she amazes one by herimbecility--this woman. Truly, one would imagine that her vulgarsharpness would teach her that his object is to use her as a tool, and that having gained Mademoiselle's fortune, he will treat them withbrutality and derision. " But she did not seem to see--possibly she fancied that having obtainedhim for a son-in-law, she would be bold and clever enough to outwitand control him. Consequently, he was encouraged and fawned upon, andMademoiselle grew thin and pale and large-eyed, and wore continually anexpression of secret terror. Only in her visits to our fifth floor did she dare to give way toher grief, and truly at such times both my Clélie and I were greatlyaffected. Upon one occasion indeed she filled us both with alarm. "Do you know what I shall do?" she said, stopping suddenly in the midstof her weeping. "I'll bear it as long as I can, and then I'll put an endto it. There's--there's always the Seine left, and I've laid awake andthought of it many a night. Father and me saw a man taken out of it oneday, and the people said he was a Tyrolean, and drowned himself becausehe was so poor and lonely--and--and so far from home. " Upon the very morning she made this speech I saw again our friend of thesixth floor. In going down-stairs I came upon him, sitting upon oneof the steps as if exhausted, and when he turned his face upward, itspallor and haggardness startled me. His tall form was wasted, hiseyes were hollow, the peculiarities I had before observed were doublymarked--he was even emaciated. "Monsieur, " I said in English, "you appear indisposed. You have beenill. Allow me to assist you to your room. " "No, thank you, " he answered. "It's only weakness. I--I sorter give out. Don't trouble yourself. I shall get over it directly. " Something in his face, which was a very young and well-looking one, forced me to leave him in silence, merely bowing as I did so. I feltinstinctively that to remain would be to give him additional pain. As I passed the room of the _concierge_, however, the excellent womanbeckoned to me to approach her. "Did you see the young man?" she inquired rather anxiously. "He hasshown himself this morning for the first time in three days. There issomething wrong. It is my impression that he suffers want--that he isstarving himself to death!" Her rosy countenance absolutely paled as she uttered these last words, retreating a pace from me and touching my arm with her fore-finger. "He has carried up even less bread than usual during the last fewweeks, " she added, "and there has been no _bouillon_ whatever. A youngman cannot live only on dry bread, and too little of that. He willperish; and apart from the inhumanity of the thing, it will beunpleasant for the other _locataires_. " I wasted no time in returning to Clélie, having indeed some hope that Imight find the poor fellow still occupying his former position uponthe staircase. But in this I met with disappointment: he was gone andI could only relate to my wife what I had heard, and trust to herdiscretion. As I had expected, she was deeply moved. "It is terrible, " she said. . "And it is also a delicate and difficultmatter to manage. But what can one do? There is only one thing--I who ama woman, and have suffered privation myself, may venture. " Accordingly, she took her departure for the floor above. I heard herlight summons upon the door of one of the rooms, but heard no reply. Atlast, however, the door was opened gently, and with a hesitance thatled me to imagine that it was Clélie herself who had pushed it open, and immediately afterward I was sure that she had uttered an alarmedexclamation. I stepped out upon the landing and called to her in asubdued tone, -- "Clélie, " I said, "did I hear you speak?" "Yes, " she returned from within the room. "Come at once, and bring withyou some brandy. " In the shortest possible time I had joined her in the room, which wasbare, cold, and unfurnished--a mere garret, in fact, containing nothingbut a miserable bedstead. Upon the floor, near the window, knelt Clélie, supporting with her knee and arm the figure of the young man she hadcome to visit. "Quick with the brandy, " she exclaimed. "This may be a faint, but itlooks like death. " She had found the door partially open, and receivingno answer to her knock, had pushed it farther ajar, and caught a glimpseof the fallen figure, and hurried to its assistance. To be as brief as possible, we both remained at the young man's sideduring the whole of the night. As the _concierge_ had said, he wasperishing from inanition, and the physician we called in assured us thatonly the most constant attention would save his life. "Monsieur, " Clélie explained to him upon the first occasion upon whichhe opened his eyes, "you are ill and alone, and we wish to befriendyou. " And he was too weak to require from her anything more definite. Physically he was a person to admire. In health his muscular power musthave been immense. He possessed the frame of a young giant, and yetthere was in his face a look of innocence and inexperience amazing evenwhen one recollected his youth. "It is the look, " said Clélie, regarding him attentively, --"the look onesees in the faces of Monsieur and his daughter down-stairs; the look ofa person who has lived a simple life, and who knows absolutely nothingof the world. " It is possible that this may have prepared the reader for the_dénoûment_ which followed; but singular as it may appear, it did notprepare either Clélie or myself--perhaps because we _had_ seen theworld, and having learned to view it in a practical light, were notprepared to encounter suddenly a romance almost unparalleled. The next morning I was compelled to go out to give my lessons as usual, and left Clélie with our patient. On my return, my wife, hearing myfootsteps, came out and met me upon the landing. She was moved by thestrongest emotion and much excited; her cheeks were pale and her eyesshone. "Do not go in yet, " she said, "I have something to tell you. It isalmost incredible; but--but it is--the lover!" For a moment we remained silent--standing looking at each other. To meit seemed incredible indeed. "He could not give her up, " Clélie went on, "until he was sure shewished to discard him. The mother had employed all her ingenuity toforce him to believe that such was the case, but he could not restuntil he had seen his betrothed face to face. So he followed her, --poor, inexperienced, and miserable, --and when at last he saw her at adistance, the luxury with which she was surrounded caused his heart tofail him, and he gave way to despair. " I accompanied her into the room, and heard the rest from his own lips. He gathered together all his small savings, and made his journey inthe cheapest possible way, --in the steerage of the vessel, and inthird-class carriages, --so that he might have some trifle left tosubsist upon. "I've a little farm, " he said, "and there's a house on it, but Iwouldn't sell that. If she cared to go, it was all I had to take her to, an' I'd worked hard to buy it. I'd worked hard, early and late, alwaysthinking that some day we'd begin life there together--Esmeraldy andme. " "Since neither sea, nor land, nor cruelty, could separate them, " saidClélie to me during the day, "it is not I who will help to hold themapart. " So when Mademoiselle came for her lesson that afternoon, it was Clélie'stask to break the news to her, --to tell her that neither sea nor landlay between herself and her lover, and that he was faithful still. She received the information as she might have received ablow, --staggering backward, and whitening, and losing her breath; butalmost immediately afterward she uttered a sad cry of disbelief andanguish. "No, no, " she said, "it--it isn't true! I won't believe it--I mustn't. There's half the world between us. Oh, don't try to make me believeit, --when it can't be true!" "Come with me, " replied Clélie. Never--never in my life has it been my fate to see, before or since, a sight so touching as the meeting of these two young hearts. When thedoor of the cold, bare room opened, and Mademoiselle Esmeralda entered, the lover held out his weak arms with a sob, --a sob of rapture, and yetterrible to hear. "I thought you'd gone back on me, Esmeraldy, " he cried. "I thought you'dgone back on me. " Clélie and I turned away and left them as the girl fell upon her kneesat his side. The effect produced upon the father--who had followed Mademoiselle asusual, and whom we found patiently seated upon the bottom step of theflight of stairs, awaiting our arrival--was almost indescribable. He sank back upon his seat with a gasp, clutching at his hat with bothhands. He also disbelieved. "Wash!" he exclaimed weakly. "Lord, no! Lord, no! Not Wash! Wash, he'sin North Cal-lina. Lord, no!" "He is up-stairs, " returned Clélie, "and Mademoiselle is with him. " During the recovery of Monsieur Wash, though but little was said uponthe subject, it is my opinion that the minds of each of our numberpointed only toward one course in the future. In Mademoiselle's demeanor there appeared a certain air of new courageand determination, though she was still pallid and anxious. It was as ifshe had passed a climax and had gained strength. Monsieur, the father, was alternately nervous and dejected, or in feverishly high spirits. Occasionally he sat for some time without speak ing, merely gazing intothe fire with a hand upon each knee; and it was one evening, after amore than usually prolonged silence of this description, that he finallytook upon himself the burden which lay upon us unitedly. "Esmeraldy, " he remarked, tremulously, and with manifesttrepidation, --"Esmeraldy, I've been thinkin'--it's time--we broke it tomother. " The girl lost color, but she lifted her head steadily. "Yes, father, " she answered, "it's time. " "Yes, " he echoed, rubbing his knees slowly, "it's time; an', Esmeraldy, it's a thing to--to sorter set a man back. " "Yes, father, " she answered again. "Yes, " as before, though his voice broke somewhat; "an' I dessay youknow how it'll be, Esmeraldy, --that you'll have to choose betwixt motherand Wash. " She sat by her lover, and for answer she dropped her face upon his handwith a sob. "An'--an' you've chose Wash, Esmeraldy?" "Yes, father. " He hesitated a moment, and then took his hat from its place ofconcealment and rose. "It's nat'ral, "'he said, "an' it's right. I wouldn't want it no otherway. An' you mustn't mind, Esmeraldy, it's bein' kinder rough on me, ascan't go back on mother, havin' swore to cherish her till death do uspart You've allus been a good gal to me, an' we've thought a heap oneach other, an' I reckon it can allers be the same way, even thoughwe're sep'rated, fur it's nat'ral you should have chose Wash, an'--an'I wouldn't have it no other way, Esmeraldy. Now I'll go an' have it outwith mother. " We were all sufficiently unprepared for the announcement to be startledby it Mademoiselle Esmeralda, who was weeping bitterly, half sprang toher feet. "To-night!" she said. "Oh, father!" "Yes, " he replied; "I've been thinking over it, an' I don't see no otherway, an' it may as well be to-night as any other time. " After leaving us he was absent for about an hour. When he returned, there were traces in his appearance of the storm through which he hadpassed. His hands trembled with agitation; he even looked weakened as hesank into his chair, We regarded him with commiseration. "It's over, " he half whispered, "an' it was even rougher than I thoughtit would be. She was terrible outed, was mother. I reckon I never seeher so outed before. She jest raged and tore. It was most more thanI could stand, Esmeraldy, " and he dropped his head upon his hands forsupport. "Seemed like it was the Markis as laid heaviest upon her, " heproceeded. "She was terrible sot on the Markis, an' every time she thinkof him, she'd just rear--. She'd just rear. I never stood up agen motherafore, an' I hope I shan't never have it to do again in my time. I'mkinder wore out. " Little by little we learned much of what had passed, though he evidentlywithheld the most for the sake of Mademoiselle, and it was some timebefore he broke the news to her that her mother's doors were closedagainst her. "I think you'll find it pleasanter a-stoppin' here, " he said, "if Mis'Dimar'll board ye until--the time fur startin' home. Her sperrit was soup that she said she didn't aim to see you no more, an' you know how sheis, Esmeraldy, when her sperrit's up. " The girl went and clung around his neck, kneeling at his side, andshedding tears. "Oh, father!" she cried, "you've bore a great deal for me; you've boremore than any one knows, and all for me. " He looked rather grave, as he shook his head at the fire. "That's so, Esmeraldy, " he replied; "but we ailers seemed nigh to eachother, somehow, and when it come to the wust, I was bound to kinder makea stand fur you, as I couldn't have made fur myself. I couldn't havedone it fur myself. Lord, no!" So Mademoiselle remained with us, and Clélie assisted her to prepareher simple outfit, and in the evening the tall young lover came into ourapartment and sat looking on, which aspect of affairs, I will confess, was entirely new to Clélie, and yet did not displease her. "Their candor moves me, " she said. "He openly regards her withadoration. At parting she accompanies him to the door, and he embracesher tenderly, and yet one is not repelled. It is the love of the lostArcadia--serious and innocent. " Finally, we went with them one morning to the American Chapel in the Ruede Bern, and they were united in our presence and that of Monsieur, whowas indescribably affected. After the completion of the ceremony, he presented Monsieur Wash with apackage. "It's papers as I've had drawd up fur Esmeraldy, " he said. "It'll startyou well out in the world, an' after me and mother's gone, there's noone but you and her to have rest. The Lord--may the Lord bless ye!" We accompanied them to Havre, and did not leave them until the lastmoment. Monsieur was strangely excited, and clung to the hands of hisdaughter and son-in-law, talking fast and nervously, and pouring outmessages to be delivered to his distant friends. "Tell 'em I'd like powerful well to see 'em all, an' I'd have comeonly--only things was kinder onconvenient. Sometime, perhaps"-- But here he was obliged to clear his throat, as his voice had becomeextremely husky. And, having done this, he added in an undertone:-- "You see, Esmeraldy, I couldn't, because of mother, as I've swore not togo back on. Wash, he wouldn't go back on you, however high your sperritwas, an' I can't go back on mother. " The figures of the young couple standing at the side, Monsieur Washholding his wife to his breast with one strong arm, were the last we sawas the ship moved slowly away. "It is obscurity to which they are returning, " I said, halfunconsciously. "It is love, " said Clélie. The father, who had been standing apart, came back to us, replacing inhis pocket his handkerchief. "They are young an' likely, you see, " said Monsieur, "an' life beforethem, an' it's nat'ral as she should have chose Wash, as was youngtoo, an' sot on her. Lord, it's nat'ral, an' I wouldn't have it nootherways. "